


Colour and Light

by chlorineandcoffeestains (AdrenalineRevolver)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrenalineRevolver/pseuds/chlorineandcoffeestains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire using Jehan as a model for a painting</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colour and Light

A trickle of sweat.

Collar is damp.

Jehan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. There was nothing he wanted more than to itch the back of his neck. Or loosen the cravat. Did Grantaire even have AC in this apartment? 

Jehan wanted to move but he knew Grantaire would snap at him. It was that look of concentration in his eyes -- such lovely eyes. Jehan stared in open adoration of the artist’s hunched figure and bizarre blue eyes. Eyes that would look up at him but not see him and yet see too much. Jehan wanted to write pages about his eyes.

Grantaire’s cold blue eyes.

Modeling was no profession but it paid more than poetry. He wasn’t getting paid for today, though; this wasn’t a fashion shoot or an art class. This was Grantaire needing a body to be painted, and Jehan not being able to say no.

Normally when you let the man you love use you for your body it doesn’t involve wearing a period costume and sitting completely still for far longer than Jehan ever thought he could. Ok he was being pathetic now. This was Grantaire painting. Nothing more.

Painting though. That was permanent. More so than life, anyways. To be immortalized in art would be to make yourself immortal. Poetry was his art. If he was good he would join the masters and all his stanzas would join the masses of lovers like Lesbia and Shakespeare’s dark beauty to immortalize those he had fallen in love with. But Grantaire was an artist. And he was good. And his beautiful paintings would transcend generations with his love of the subject.

Jehan wasn’t the subject though. He was just slim and free.

Art is love in its most permanent expression. It is affection. Love for a muse.

Grantaire finally put down his brush and stretched. “I’m hungry. Let’s take a break. Actually, I think I’m good, so you’re finished.” He grinned at the poet. “Want to go out and get something to eat?”

“Can I change first?” Jehan teased. He had slumped and was loosening the cravat so he could finally get at that itch. The damn fabric wasn’t coming out of its knot.

“No you cannot.” Grantaire began to tidy up a bit but stopped when he noticed Jehan’s difficulties. 

“Here,” the artist crossed the room in seconds and moved Jehan’s hands away. “Do you want a back rub? Cause that had to be uncomfortable way to sit.”

Would he want a back rub? Yes he fucking would. “No, it’s fine! I’d rather eat.” Jehan breathed deeply when Grantaire finally got the cravat off. He missed v-necks. How the hell did people wear things like this all the time?

“Do you want to see it?” Jehan knew that question. Grantaire looked so hopeful. It was his way of letting a person into his life, letting them see his art. But Jehan didn’t really want to see Enjolras looking back from the canvas.

“Of course.” He was dragged instantly from stretching his sleeping leg to the painting.  
And it was him.

Red hair falling into his face. Freckles scattered on his skin. Slim hands holding a skull and blue eyes looking into the empty holes. The windowsill he has been sitting in was unfinished.

But there was light falling in his hair, and his mouth was soft. Jehan reached out to touch the painting before remembering that it wasn’t a good idea. He turned to Grantaire. The artist had been holding his breath.

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” Jehan turned to look at him in awe. “Grantaire, I love it.”

The artist suddenly grabbed him in a hug, laughing into Jehan’s hair and lifting him off his feet. “I’m so glad.” He kissed the top of the poet’s head and Jehan’s heart nearly stopped.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is M. Here is my tumblr if you want it http://crowleyplease.tumblr.com/  
> This was a lovely request by a friend


End file.
